


rampant

by Jagged



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Clothed Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26828425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jagged/pseuds/Jagged
Summary: They never did quite get around to thanking Emet-Selch for retrieving Y'shtola from the Lifestream. But that can be fixed.(Or: Emet-Selch gets a blowjob, and also topped.)
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	rampant

Moonlight dapples the moss and ruins, falling through gaps where the walls of the astropolis have long collapsed. It’s been an hour since he left camp, give or take; sunlight won’t come for another four or five. 

He isn’t sure if familiarity has attuned him to it, or if it’s only the contrast of it in a world so saturated with light, but whatever the reason the fact remains he can taste the shift in the aether moments before the air starts to fold into itself and shimmer with darkness.

“I was wondering when you’d come out,” he says, and wrenches his axe out of a felled construct. “Enjoy the show?”

The Ronkan doll that only moments ago rumbled out of the wall at him has gone quiet, smothered under whatever magic now chars the air. The engravings along its sides pulse a dull orange once, twice, then fade away for good. Emet-Selch clicks his tongue, and even without turning to look at him in full it’s easy to imagine his crossed arms, the put-upon expression. “If you mean that _baffling_ display of carelessness — one might think you are inviting an ambush, going on as you are. Remind me, if you would: how many enemies number your collection?” 

Anh’zi grins, bares his fangs as he shifts to face the Ascian. “None that could sneak up on me or get past you, surely?” He cocks his head when their gazes meet, watches as Emet-Selch looks over him as though ensuring he hasn’t ruined anything by getting himself mauled. The Garleans he’s known took to the dark as well as any Hyur, that is to say: badly — but despite the body he wears, it seems no obstacle to Emet-Selch. 

Not that there is anything for his examination to reveal anyway. A few animated rocks and swarming bats do not begin to pose a threat. Barely even a workout; the way his shirt sticks to his shoulders has more to do with the climb over vines and crumbled galleries that led him to these rooms than any axe-swinging.

“I’ve better things to do than play nursemaid,” Emet-Selch retorts, but the fact he is here at all belies his words. And maybe it’s the late hour, maybe it’s that they’re alone for once, no Scions to bristle and stare — it does not escape Anh’zi that Emet-Selch’s eyes linger.

After their passage through the astropolis the wildlife has made itself scarce. What remained now lies in rubble across the floor. He was ready to make his way back to the ancient murals before luring the Ascian out, but this place will do just as well.

The deactivated doll’s surface is rough when he puts his hand to it. A good kick makes it teeter and fall on its side. “Could’ve dealt with it myself,” he says, “but I appreciate the help.” Brushes his hair from his face, ears upright. Is there light enough to make his eyes shine? Though these sections have not even torches still burning, he thinks there might. “Speaking of… I never did properly thank you for returning Y’shtola to us,” he says to test the waters, but too quickly Emet-Selch waves it away, a quick, dismissive flick of the wrist like a bird affrighted.

“If you must thank me, do it by staying put when reasonable people are in bed.” He makes a show of looking around them. “And do make your return to more civilized locales, will you? I tire of finding insects and mud everywhere I turn.”

It’s a dismissal clear as the moon through the canopy. And there’s that sour taste in the air again, darkness simmering before it leaps to answer the call. But that isn’t how he wanted this night to go, and there’s one more thing he wants to try. Before Emet-Selch can step away and disappear into his portals he whistles: the sharp, high note he’s heard Imperial houndsmasters use to recall their dogs to their side.

Emet-Selch freezes, turns to him, incredulity flashing across his face for only a second before it fades for a curl of the lip, an arched brow. 

“I wasn’t done,” Anh’zi says, advancing. He holds his gaze steady, hardens his tone. “Sit down.” 

“Should I roll over as well? Beg?”

He laughs, tail swishing slowly behind him. “No,” he replies, pleasantly, and closes the distance that remains between them, leaving his axe against a pillar. “That comes later.” 

There’s a head of difference between their heights, a bit more even, but it’s nothing to reach up and take the Ascian by the lapel, to pull him down to his level. He’s almost lovely like this: too close to feign detachment, dripping disdain. And the sudden narrow focus in his eyes, the hitch of breath from his mouth… yeah, there’s hunger there too. 

His hand closes over Anh’zi’s wrist. Tugs. Anh’zi curls his fingers into the thick cloth, and doesn’t let go.

Now his grip tightens, but it’s not serious. Anh’zi doesn’t think it’ll even bruise. “If this is how you give thanks, I shudder to imagine how you settle grudges.” Eyes on his face, on his hand, his bare arm between them. For a moment darkness roils so heavy in the air it feels almost physical. Will he run? Strike back? The possibility exists, Anh’zi knows. It’s half the thrill of it. 

“Might show you _that_ too someday,” he purrs, and steps closer, from arm’s length to grappling range. If either of them meant to harm the other, now would be the perfect time.

The pressure bursts, and they are still both standing there. Emet-Selch lets go of him, and looks down. Wrinkles his nose at the leaves and the rough stones, but he says “Very well, let’s see it then,” and sinks down. His robes pool under him, black broken by the concentric circles of golden hems. 

Anh’zi follows him to the ground, settling atop his legs with his thighs on either side of him. Emet-Selch’s schooled his face back into mild indifference, but the shape of his interest is clear enough when Anh’zi leans back and grinds down, even through the layers of cloth. If he wants to be difficult, who is Anh’zi to begrudge it? On impulse he rises on his haunches, tilts his head up and bites at his mouth, fangs catching on lips, a little introductory spilling of blood. 

“Stay,” he says, punctuates it with firm pressure over Emet-Selch’s shoulder. He can hear the hiss of air between clenched teeth, feel how he tenses then slackens under the touch. It’s charming how well he responds to forcefulness. At another time Anh’zi would tear him half to shreds.

But that can be for later. For now he means only to shuffle down, to push open the outer coat and bunch up the fabric of the inner layers. Emet-Selch lets his knees fall open so he can fit between them, leans back. He looks almost indolent now, lashes low but watchful. When Anh’zi bends to mouth at the skin on the inside of his thigh he finally makes a move, dragging fingers through Anh’zi's hair then cupping the back of his head. 

“Not so fast,” Emet-Selch drawls, and Anh’zi flicks his ears at the sudden snap of fingers, huffs laughter when he sees that takes care of the last obstacle that is underwear. He steadies himself, and then he curls his hand around the Ascian’s cock, shoots him a look over the rucked folds of his robes. A spot of red still lingers over his lip, and in the darkness there is a gleam to his eyes too. 

It’s a heady feeling when you understand one another. He brings his mouth down and Emet-Selch sighs, shifts. This isn’t a seduction; he doesn’t bother to tease, to drag it out the way he might with a friend. 

When Emet-Selch pulls at his hair to urge him on he lets his teeth graze over his skin, but that only makes him shudder. Of course. Holds him at leg and hip, works tongue and jaw, no art but animal heat. He’s surprisingly quiet, but there’s little tells, pauses when his fingers still while tracing the notches on Anh’zi’s ears. He suspects it’s not the Ascian’s first time with a Miqo’te, but he still gets that jolt when he starts to purr, vibrations traveling from low in his throat to the back of his mouth. 

All things considered, Emet-Selch holds out heroically. But Anh’zi doesn’t give him much of a choice in the matter, and heroes always fall in the end, don’t they?

“Full of surprises, aren’t you?” Emet-Selch says, watching him with half-lidded eyes as he wipes the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t offer to reciprocate. If it weren’t for the slightly darker flush to his face he’d look like nothing happened, all traces vanished with a flick of the wrist. 

Ahn’zi laughs, a little rougher than before. His tail curls lazily. “It’s what you like, isn’t it?”

“It is.” He stands, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. “Now, if we’re all done here, I have matters to attend to.” 

“I couldn’t stop you if I wanted,” he says, and Emet-Selch, already shrouded in darkness, makes a thoughtful noise. He raises his hand, waves.

“I’ll see you around, hero. Don’t dull your fangs on lesser prey.” 


End file.
